


when it burns

by LieutenantSaavik



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), Gen, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Growing Up, Synaesthesia, Synesthesia, magic shenanigans, nobody is like.... evil they're just varying levels of bratty, oh look it's me writing in the mcu again like the idiot i am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantSaavik/pseuds/LieutenantSaavik
Summary: hey dudes! it's been a while since I wrote for the MCU (and this is my first Thor fic), so if anything breaks canon continuity, please let me know. if you enjoyed any of this, please leave a comment -- comments keep me writing, and they mean so much to me. also, at risk of sounding too much like a youtuber, there's a thing you can do where you can 'subscribe' to a work without subscribing to a whole author, so if you'd like to get an email whenever the next chapter's up, go for it! (and i'll love you for it)anyway, thanks for reading! <3





	1. A Gleaming Glassy Ocean

_Gleaming. G-L-E-A-M-I-N-G. "Shining brightly with reflected light."_

She treasures her new word and looks at the city around her.

_The city is gleaming._

_It still will be gleaming_ , she thinks, _when it burns._

The sky echoes across its great blue dome, and Loki thinks that if she can tilt her head just so, squint her eyes just a little bit smaller, she can see past the daylight and into the stars above. She’s about to try, when-

“Hellooooo, brother!” a red-tinged voice precedes a running figure that skids to a stop in front of her. Its owner tilts his head, comically listing. “Sister?”

“Sister,” Loki confirms, dropping her head against the wall behind her.

“Sister.” Thor drops to his knees to sit beside her. “How do you choose which one?”

“However I feel.” _What rhymes with gleaming? Screaming. The city is gleaming through fire and screaming._

“ _Do_ you choose?”

The question makes Loki uncomfortable. _I want you to go away_ , she thinks at him. _Maybe I can scare him off._ “I don’t know. But look what I can do.”

She thrusts her hands in front of her and hooks her fingers into claws. Thor watches as the air between them starts to warp, shivering as if splicing itself apart before his eyes. Then Loki clenches her hands into fists and the distortion vanishes, the air hanging heavy and still once again.

“You weave magic, like Mother does,” Thor breathes, in wonder.

Loki pulls at her hair. “Not the same,” she says shortly. _Even though she’s teaching me._ “Not like hers.”

“Well, not yet. Do you think you’re going to be more powerful than Mother someday?”

Wearily, Loki tracks her vision up to the line where the sky starts to drown the city buildings. She closes her eyes. _If the city burned, all of that would be gone._ “You talk too much,” she complains, instead of answering. She can tell that Thor, next to her, is pouting. “It’s said that _true_ Asgardian warriors must take a vow of silence before they finish their training, to prove they can…” she searches for a reason that Thor will believe, “Stay silent in case they were interrogated.” _Made-ups today: One._

“Really?” Thor asks. Loki slits her eyes open to see that his face is aghast. “Total silence?”

“Total and complete. It’s for discipline.” _Discipline._ It sickens her how much she sounds like her father. _Be better than him. Be better than Thor, too._

Thor shifts his feet against the cobblestones. “Father never told me that.”

“He told _me_ ,” she lies. _Made-ups today: Two. You are so gullible, Thor._

Thor narrows his eyes. “Are you _sure_ this is true?”

Loki closes her eyes again. “Absolutely. Do you want to go ask Father to prove it?”

“No,” Thor says hurriedly. “No. I’d like to stay with you.”

“And I’d like to stay with you.” _Made-ups today: Three._ She knows her numbers always get larger when Thor wants to talk to her.

_Gleaming, gleaming, the city is gleaming, and if it burned, there would be screaming._

Thor stretches his legs out in front of him, taking up the golden pavement before them. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” _Made-ups today: Four._

“That’s not true; I know you.”

_If the city burned, I’d save Mother first._

She opens her eyes reluctantly, tired of the monotony of gold. Thor’s smile is big and stupid and silly. “You’re always thinking about something,” he teases lamely.

“I’m thinking about… Mother.” _Made-ups today: Four-and-a-half._

“I’m glad your magic training is going well.”

“You don’t have to sound so _surprised_.”

“I’m not surprised! I’m happy for you.” Loki notices that Thor’s smile has faded.

“What,” she snaps. “Are you _jealous_?”

Thor kicks his leg against the ground. “Of course not.”

 _Thor’s made-ups today: One_ , she decides. “You shouldn’t be,” she tells him.

“I just said I wasn’t. What’s wrong with you?”

Loki turns her face away from him, pressing her cheek against the wall. _What’s wrong with you?_ She twists her lips to turn her voice cold and greener. “Nothing.” _Made-ups today: Five._

Silence drops between them and Loki tucks herself into it. _Thor is uncomfortable. I can tell him to go away now._

She opens her mouth, but Thor speaks first. “I’m sorry.”

Loki blinks at the anxiety-inducing earnestness in his face. _When he apologises_ , she notes, _his voice changes color_. “Why?”

“For saying that something was wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Thank you _very_ much.” Loki folds her arms across her chest, searching for something else to listen to besides her brother’s voice. _I can hear the shining in the back of my ears_ , she realises, finding comfort. _Green, not gold; feels like cold._

“Do you forgive me?”

Loki presses her lips together until they hurt. “Why do you expect me to?”

“Because it was an accident.” _Thor’s made-ups today: Two. He’s always behind me._

“Yes, I forgive you,” she returns coolly. _Made-ups today: Six._

“Thank you.” Thor’s voice is back to its usual opaque redness, tinged at the edges with Asgardian gold. _It suits him so well._

Loki turns back to the skyline and imagines smoke rising from the buildings. _The city is gleaming and every part of it looks the same._

“The city is gleaming!” Thor crows triumphantly.

Loki jumps to her feet and whirls. “What?!”

“That’s what you’re thinking of!” Thor stands with an exaggerated swagger. “‘The city is gleaming!’ I read your lips! You were muttering!”

“I was _not_ muttering!”

“That’s a made-up!”

“That’s my seventh!”

“Seventh?” Thor draws back. “Why so many?”

 _Because you’re talking to me._ She doesn't answer.

“Maybe…” Thor begins slowly, “You shouldn’t make up so much. It’s the same as lying, right?”

“Maybe,” Loki replies evasively, “You shouldn’t try to stop me from _imagining_.”

Thor scrunches his face up. “Maybe you shouldn’t stop me from imagining,” he intones.

Loki forces a laugh. “Are you trying to imitate my voice? Because if you were, that was pathetic.”

Thor’s retort comes too quickly. “No!”

 _Thor’s made-ups today: Three._ Loki adds the third line to her mental tally with a smirk. “Yes, you were.”

“No!”

Loki pulls her features into an exaggerated, mopey frown. “Careful, or you’ll have _four_ made-ups on your conscience before long.”

“Are you trying to imitate my face?”

“No, but I’m glad you admit it looks like you.” Her smirk returns.

“It doesn’t! And I’m glad I don’t have to practice faces in the mirror!”

Loki freezes, her smirk growing fixed.

“I saw you this morning! You were making that… that smile! That bad smile! It doesn’t even come from you -- you just learned it from someone else!”

Loki forces herself to move again, forces her shoulders back, and takes an easy step away from Thor. _Be better than him._ “Everything anybody learns comes from someone else. Should I remind you what ‘learn’ means?”

“No.” Thor pouts again. “Let’s make an agreement instead. I won’t tell about your seven made-ups-”

“Eight.” Loki sticks out her chin. _Now it is eight._

“I won’t tell about your eight made-ups if you won’t tell that I asked you the bad question.”

She thinks for a moment. “I agree.” _Made-ups today: Nine._

“Good!” Thor’s face is transformed as he breaks into a smile. He closes the gap between them and plants a kiss on her cheek. “That seals it.”

Loki bares her teeth and smears the kiss off her skin, wiping it down the wall next to her as Thor watches with growing dismay. “Don’t do that. I don’t like being touched.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I hate that you are,” she spits.

Thor blinks. “Why?”

Loki struggles to articulate herself, gives up, and sighs. “Let’s go back home.”

“Yes, let’s.”

Thor turns and starts to walk back the way he’d come. _Why does he always expect me to follow?_

“I’m your brother now,” Loki informs him as they rejoin, widening his stride to outstep Thor. He molds his features more square, makes his hair shorter. “Not your sister. And you can’t tell Father anything.”

Thor stops walking, and Loki realises with satisfaction that, for once, he’s a half-step ahead of his brother. “What?”

Loki pulls on his exaggerated frown again. “Father, I have to tell you about Loki!”

“Stop imitating me! I do _not_ sound like that! And that’s exactly what I’ll tell Father if you don’t stop!”

“Ah, but you can’t tell Father, because Father doesn’t _know_.”

“Know what? Why can’t I tell Father?”

“You know why.” Loki puts his hands on his hips and looks Thor up and down. “I’m right.”

“No,” Thor complains. “I still don’t know why I can’t tell him.”

“You _could_ ,” Loki puts a hand on his chin and pretends to muse, “But then you’d have lied to me.”

“Why?”

 _Are you really this stupid?_ “What _would_ you tell him?”

“I’d say something like, ‘Father, I have to tell you about Loki. He-” Thor stops.

“So you know why?”

“Yes.” Thor grumbles. “I can’t tell him about what you did without saying ‘she,’ and Father doesn’t know you’re sometimes a she, and I promised you I wouldn’t tell him.”

“And if you told him using ‘he,’ that wouldn’t be true, because I wasn’t a ‘he’ at the time, so either way you’d be telling made-ups, and you’d end up in disgrace and banishment,” Loki finishes triumphantly.

“You win,” Thor mutters, and stomps his foot. “I can’t tell him anything!”

 _I can be slippery and I can get away from you_ , Loki thinks with a flash of pride. _I won. This time, I was better._ “But I can still tell him you asked me the bad question.”

“Don’t!”

“Why shouldn’t I? You know you hurt me.” Loki shakes his head theatrically and places a hand over his heart. “‘What is wrong with you?’” he quotes. “Maybe there _is_ something wrong with me. You do ask me that a lot, after all.”

“Of course there’s not.” Thor’s voice is staunch. “You’re my brother. I don’t even know why Mother doesn’t want Father to know that you’re sometimes a girl.”

“I don’t know why either.” Loki widens his stride again. “She said something about _daughters_ and _black and green_ and how that would be _frightening_ for him. Really stupid, hm?”

“Definitely stupid,” Thor agrees. His concern turns into joy. “I’ll race you back to the castle!”

“No,” says Loki flatly, but Thor is already starting to sprint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey dudes! it's been a while since I wrote for the MCU (and this is my first Thor fic), so if anything breaks canon continuity, please let me know. if you enjoyed any of this, please leave a comment -- comments keep me writing, and they mean so much to me. also, at risk of sounding too much like a youtuber, there's a thing you can do where you can 'subscribe' to a work without subscribing to a whole author, so if you'd like to get an email whenever the next chapter's up, go for it! (and i'll love you for it)
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! <3


	2. Under a Sky of Grey

Everything is still.

Her ears ring.

Silence.

_ It is for thee, this headlong haste of mine. _

Brünnhilde presses her shaking fingers to her chest, feels her heart pump the blood of her body, feels the shattered shadow beneath her slowly tremble on the rocks.

She is dead. She lets her unsteady breathing take her consciousness far away.

 

_ // _

_ Feet come hastily along the path, a Valkyrie, a blurred, unfamiliar face with long, pale hair.  _

_ Brünnhilde stops the girl’s motion with a hand pressed to her shoulder. ‘Why art thou running?’ _

_ ‘It is for thee, this headlong haste of mine.’ The girl is winded, her face red, her eyes dancing. _

_ Brünnhilde shifts to catch the sunlight so she is not blinded. ‘What news dost thou bring, then?’ _

_ The girl places her hand over Brünnhilde’s, her skin warm.‘We are to be partnered, to fight by each other's side. One old soldier and one new, to cement the sisterhood.’ _

_ ‘Odin’s decree?’ _

_ ‘Lady Frigga’s.’ _

_ Brünnhilde nods. ‘And thy name?’ _

_ ‘Valtrauta.’ _

_ ‘Care that thy great haste does not turn into trouble, Valtrauta.’ _

_ Valtrauta dips her head meekly. ‘I will endeavor to change.’ _

_ ‘Do not bow; we are equals here.’ Brünnhilde looks Valtrauta over. ‘Welcome to the Valkyrior. I foresee a fruitful partnership.’ _

_ ‘And I, too. What can you teach me?’ _

_ Brünnhilde smiles. ‘What can you learn?’ _

_ // _

 

_ // _

_ Brünnhilde watches Valtrauta run sloppily through the forest, her chest heaving through the armor strapped around her. As she approaches Brünnhilde she slows, a giddy, embarrassed smile spreading over her face. _

_ ‘Why art thou running?’ Brünnhilde asks. _

_ ‘It is for thee, this headlong haste of mine.’ _

_ ‘What has transpired?’ _

_ ‘I am training for strength. I wish to be stronger, to provide thee with an equal in combat.’ _

_ Brünnhilde smirks. ‘An entirely unselfish motivation. Art thou certain thou dost not just wish to defeat me?’ _

_ ‘Nobody can defeat thee.’ Valtrauta’s voice is faint but rapturous. ‘Thou art Brünnhilde, the best of our fighters.’ _

_ ‘Thou must be blind.’ Brünnhilde laughs. _

_ Valtrauta shakes her head. ‘I speak the truth.’ _

_ ‘Thou dost not. I am far from the most accomplished, and even farther from the most experienced.’ _

_ ‘Yet thou hast the most passion for what we do. Our fighting; our protection. Thou hast genuine love for Asgard and its people.’ _

_ ‘I only do what a Valkyrie should.’ _

_ ‘I wish to be more like thee.’ _

_ The sun is reflecting off the city; the air sings. Brünnhilde pushes a strand of Valtrauta’s hair behind her ear. ‘Thou shouldn’t wish to be more like me. Thou art complete unto thyself.” _

_ Valtrauta shakes her head, but her mouth quirks affectionately. ‘Wilt thou run with me today? I don’t want to go alone.’ _

_ Brünnhilde blinks, bemused. ‘I thought thou wast attempting to become stronger than me. In that case, I am hardly the rational choice.’ _

_ ‘Yes,’ Valtrauta declares. ‘Thou art.’ _

_ // _

 

_ // _

_ ‘Why so fast?’ Brünnhilde asks, laughing. _

_ Valtrauta catches the sunlight in her smile. ‘It is for thee, this headlong haste of mine.’ _

_ She holds out a large package hastily wrapped in silver. ‘Brünnhilde. A gift for thee.’ _

_ ‘A gift?’ Brünnhilde can’t keep the surprise from her voice. ‘Why?’ _

_ Valtrauta’s face wrinkles in mirth. ‘Surely, thou hast not forgotten?’ _

_ ‘I have; I must have!’ Brünnhilde places a hand behind Valtrauta’s neck, contagious laughter bubbling inside her.  ‘Please, tell me the reason for this.’ _

_ ‘Brünnhilde, my love.’ Valtrauta is calm but smiling. ‘It is the anniversary of the day thee joined the Valkyrior.’ She pushes the box into Brünnhilde’s hands. ‘Open it, please!’ _

_ ‘Right now?’ _

_ ‘Yes!’ _

_ Valtrauta watches, biting her lower lip and grinning, as Brünnhilde removes the packaging to reveal a slender blade. She holds it up and tilts it each way, runs her finger up and down the sheath. ‘Oh, Valtrauta,’ she whispers. ‘It’s beautiful.’ _

_ ‘I do believe it suits thee well.’ Valtrauta folds her hand over Brünnhilde’s, and they hold the hilt together. ‘Precise, strong, perfect.’ _

_ ‘Thou praisest me unduly.’ _

_ ‘Never!’ _

_ ‘Then thou praisest the dagger unduly.’ Brünnhilde lightheartedly pokes Valtrauta in the shoulder. ‘Surely it is unconventional to claim to be the giver of a perfect gift.’ _

_ Valtrauta’s quick laugh spills out. ‘Perhaps so, but I had not thought.’ She hesitates a moment. ‘You do like it?’ _

_ ‘It is the perfect weight and the perfect balance. I love it.’ She presses her forehead to Valtraita’s and softly cups her chin. ‘And I love you. Your voice is the most joyous sound I know.’ _

_ Valtrauta kisses Brünnhilde softly, the dagger clasped between them. ‘I love you, too,’ she murmurs. ‘Always.’ _

_ // _

 

_ // _

_ Brünnhilde knows what Valtrauta is thinking, can see her unspoken words arc between them as she steps on air, arms out, hair flowing. Running. _

_ ‘It is for thee, this headlong haste of mine.’ _

_ The blade cuts through her like paper. _

_ There is a high, unending, warping scream. _

_ A flare of dying light. _

_ A long, long fall. _

_ // _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the 1870s, there was a German opera called "Götterdämmerung," or "The Dusk of the Gods," the German translation of "Ragnarök." A segment from the poem goes like this:
> 
> While starting from her seat, Brunnhilda cried:  
> "Welcome Valtrauta's call, most joyous sound!  
> Comest thou, sister, here to trace me out? Straightaway descend, and leave they wingèd steed  
> There in the woods as always was thy wont." [...]
> 
> Quick from the woods Valtrauta eager came,  
> While after her a sound like thunder rolled,--  
> Unnoted by Brunnhilda's beaming joy,  
> But filling faint Valtrauta's heart with fear,  
> While in a whisper hastily she spake:  
> "It is for thee, -- this headlong haste of mine!"
> 
> In computer coding, placing two slashes before a line of text makes it invalid code and effectively removes it from the program. Likewise, this chapter could be read with full comprehension without the 'slashed' bits.


	3. A Tide That Dreams of Motion

“Mother?” He pushes open the door, seeing his mother standing in front of a circular table with gold fabric draped across it. “Are you busy?” _Don’t be busy!_

“Hello, little Loki.” Frigga’s eyes crinkle warmly. “Little lurking Loki. Come in; don’t stand in the shadows like that. Did you have fun playing outside?”

“Not really.” Loki kicks the tip of his toe against the floor. “Thor wasn’t nice to me today.” _Is that a made-up? No_ , he decides. _I don’t make things up around Mother._

“Brothers bicker. Try to be the better person and let it go. Take a look at this; it might pull that frown of yours in the opposite direction, hm?”

She beckons him over to the table, where he sees that the gold fabric makes up the shape of a large, spread cloak. “It’s beautiful,” he says, forcing as much sincerity into his voice as he can, but he can tell from the grey tinge to his voice that it fell flat.

There’s an awkward pause. “What’s wrong, Loki?” Frigga asks. “Something’s on your mind.”

“Mother?” _Don’t ask_ , he warns himself.

“Yes?”

 _I have to ask!_ He takes a deep, steady breath, feels it tremble into his lungs. “WhyamIweaker?”

Frigga drops her hand and the cloak vanishes from the table. She reaches over to smooth her son’s hair, but Loki catches her arm in the air and shoves it to the side. “No,” he snaps. “Don’t touch me.”

Frigga’s mouth turns down at the corners, and Loki feels prickly. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“You’re not weaker.” Frigga brings the cloak up again and flicks her fingers, adding another fold to the neckline.

“You’re lying!”

“I am not lying.” She removes the fold and the cloak falls flat again. “But you were. Thor told me about your eight made-ups today.”

Loki jumps to his feet. “I’ll kill him!”

“Loki.” Frigga’s voice turns frigid. “Sit down and apologise. _Now._ We don’t joke about the deaths of our loved ones.” She stands and takes Loki’s chin in her hand, tilting his face up to hers, each word crisp. “We _never_ make light of murder.”

 _Why not?_ Loki steps backward and wipes his hand around his face.

“Do you know why there are some subjects that cannot be turned into jokes?”

“No.” _That doesn’t make sense._

“I’ll tell you. Murder does not exist on Asgard. Death, for the most part, is accepted and peaceful. Were someone to end another’s life by force, against that person’s will, there would be chaos.”

“You _said_ -”

“I said that chaos is needed, yes. But what is needed more than chaos is the balance between it and its opposite.”

She levitates the cloak and interlaces her fingers. “Too much chaos,” she starts to pull her hands apart, “And all that we know unravels.”

Loki watches with slowly widening eyes as the cloak is sheared in two as if cut by a massive blade. Threads retreat from the split, curing and breaking until the silky fabric is reduced to two balls of thread which Frigga deftly plucks from the air. “Do you understand?”

Finding he can’t be unimpressed, he sighs. “Yes.”

“Then repeat what I just said.”

“Too much chaos,” he dutifully recites, “And all that we know unravels.” _Boring._

“But remember this:” Frigga fists her hands and the thread balls disappear, “Without chaos, there could have been no life. The random movement that came to generate living creatures would never have come to be without the element of mayhem.” She smiles fondly and uncurls her hands, revealing whole fabric once again. “People like you are important to the world. You make life interesting.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Tomorrow, you must have fewer made-ups than you did today. Tell me you promise. Say, ‘I promise.’”

“I promise. And that’s not a made-up. But you said I was just being imaginative!”

“I did say that some time ago. But that was when you made up something twice a day, or thrice. When people on Asgard speak, they speak the truth, always.” Her mouth twists, and something in her eyes grows.

Loki starts to feel uncomfortable again. “Always?”

“Nearly always.” Frigga smiles, and the pain in her eyes her is gone.

Loki groans. “Then I’m _different_.”

“And if you are, what would be wrong with that?”

He struggles for an answer. “Something.”

“I don’t believe so.”

Loki folds his arms. “You’d make a better king than Father.”

“Don’t say that.” The fabric lifts itself out of Frigga’s hands, resolves itself back into the cloak, and drapes itself in the air. “He is the rightful king and must remain so. Do you think this is finished?”

“It would look better if it was green.”

“If it _were_ green.”

“If it were green.”

“You really do like green, don’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Somebody has to. Everyone here wears gold, or colors that are too light to…” he flaps his hands in the air. “Too light to _mean_ anything.” _And it’s stupid._

“Too light to mean anything?”

Loki scowls and bites his lower lip until he can taste blood. _Stupid words._ “Nothing. I know I talk funny.”

“No, you don’t. And even if you did, what would be wrong with that?”

 _This is annoying._ “You talk in circles.”

“Even if I did, what-”

“STOP IT!” Loki stomps his foot. “NO! I _am_ different from Thor, and from Father, and I don’t like it, and I want your _help!_ And you just keep,” he waves his hands in the air, “Keep being -- stupid! This is stupid! And -- and annoying,” he finishes lamely.

Frigga rotates the cloak in a circle, unmoved. “Is your rant finished?”

“Is your _cloak_ finished?”

Frigga drapes it over her own shoulders. “Yes, I believe so. It’s a gift for Heimdall -- or it will be, when it’s made. This, you know, is just an illusion. Why waste the fabric?”

“Won’t Heimdall see it coming?”

“Of course. But it’s the thought that counts.”

“So he can see me right now?” Loki shifts from one foot to the other. “ _Right now_ right now?”

“He could.” Frigga folds up the illusion of the cloak. “But I doubt he’s looking.”

“I don’t like that.”

“His vision is what keeps us safe and defended against our enemies. He’s our protector, one of the most powerful people on Asgard.”

“So you’re keeping him happy so he won’t attack us?”

Frigga inhales sharply and slowly turns, dropping the cloak onto the table soundlessly. “Of course not. That’s silly, Loki, really. He is loyal to us, to Asgard’s throne.”

“How do you know?”

“Why,” she sighs wearily, “Must you always assume the worst. Heimdall is my friend and I love him; all of Asgard loves him. Or,” she looks to Loki pointedly, “All of Asgard _should_. We are giving him a gift to show our love. You’re a smart boy; this should make sense.”

 _She’s mad at you, she’s mad -- change the subject!_ “Can I go see him with you?” Loki asks in a rush.

Frigga blinks. “Of course you can. I’ll take you with me to the Bifrost Bridge, and Thor, too.”

“Why Thor, too?”

“Loki, it’s what’s fair.”

Sensing a reprimand, Loki falls silent for a moment. “Can you make me look better?” he asks.

“You look fine.”

“Can I check?”

Frigga waves her hand and the air in front of her changes color, vibrating and coalescing into a familiar figure standing right in front of Loki. He pokes it, and his hand passes right through his own chest. “That’s exactly how I look?”

“A perfect, if incorporeal, replica.”

“Thanks.” He turns and walks around his duplicate. “I have messy hair.”

“You were just out running.”

“My cheekbones are uneven.”

“You just need practice.”

“Can you help me make them right?”

“Try it yourself, first.”

Loki stops himself from glaring. “Fine.”

He places both hands on either side of his nose, covering as much of his face as he can, and closes his eyes. _Change. Be better._

His skin turns to water under his hands and he concentrates, bringing one bone up and the other down, straightening his nose. When he opens his eyes, his replica’s face is even more uneven.

He feels hot prickling at the back of his eyes. “Stop it,” he mutters, fisting his hands and blinking into them. “Stop it, that’s weak, that’s-”

Frigga gently lifts his hands from his face. “Don’t cry. Think of the many animals you can be -- human transformation illusions are the hardest, even for me.”

“Just help me with my _face_!”

“Say please, Loki.”

“Help me with my face, _please_!”

Frigga sighs. The face of Loki’s duplicate warps into symmetry. “Mimic that, and you’ll be back to normal.”

“Will I have to shift my whole life?”

“There’s no shame in experiencing multiple genders. It’s unique.”

“Nobody else does it. I’m the only one-”

Frigga opens her mouth.

“-And _don’t_ say ‘and what is wrong with that’!”

“But, Loki, there is nothing wrong with that!”

“I don’t care if there is or isn’t! I don’t want to be different; that’s all I want; that’s all I _want_!”

Frigga closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Believe me, I know. Just finish your transformation, please, and we’ll be going.”

Loki squints at his duplicate’s face. _Change._ His features mold into what he sees.

“Well done, my child.” Frigga lifts him off the ground for a brief hug. “Let’s go find Thor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that in-character for Frigga? Confession time -- I never saw the first two Thor movies, so basically I'm getting my characterisation for these folks from their Wiki articles, The Avengers, and Thor: Ragnarok
> 
> thank you for reading -- please comment, and critiques are as welcome as compliments <3


	4. Or Moves, as the Dead May

She wakes up. She moves the smallest finger on her left hand. She moves her whole arm. She sits up and vomits on the ground in front of her. The smell makes her vomit again.

There is no sword puncturing her chest. There is no death-shaped shade on the horizon. There is no screaming, no scrape of metal ringing silver through the air.

She knows what she’ll see when she looks up. The rocks she vomited on are stained with two shades of brown.

_It is for thee, this headlong haste of mine._

“Valtrauta,” she whispers. Her eyes shut.

Again she sees her lover’s face, hair spread like a halo, Hela’s unholy light behind her turning her to diamonds.

She can see the blade emerge from her chest, the sharp-edged growth that ate her.

“Valtrauta,” she repeats, hearing her voice waver to nothing in the lifeless air.

 _//Yes?//_ she can almost hear an echo at the back of her mind, a bright breath, pale words that are not her own. _//What is it, Brünnhilde, my love?//_

“Are you really dead?” she asks her fantasy.

_//Brünnhilde, my love, wake up. You are dreaming.//_

She folds her hands over her eyes, curls her filthy knees to her chest, rocks herself back and forth until she can no longer feel time. _Valtrauta, Valtrauta, Valtrauta. Val. Valtrauta._

 _//Stand up, Brünnhilde, my love.//_ The voice in her head is sharper now.

Still covering her eyes, she stumbles to her feet. Her knees will not lock, and her ankles turn beneath her.

 _//Look.//_ Valtrauta’s soft voice becomes her own. // _Look at them. Look at what happened. You owe them that.//_

She shakes. She quavers, she sways, but she does not fall.

She opens her eyes.  
  


The world is grey and bleak and empty.

Broken bodies lie against each other, heads over knees, blades protruding from chests, limbs twisting in blood and soil. Bodies stretch up the crags, cover the valley, soak into each other in tangles of skin. Dead winged horses lie with feathers soaked in grime.

“Hildegarde. Róta.” She can name all her sisters. “Krista. Sigrún. Sváva.”

_//_

_Valtrauta, holding her arms out to her sides, floating on nothing, drifting-_

_The blade tears right through her like she’s made of paper-_

_Falling-_

_//_

Brünnhilde’s knees crumple beneath her and her forehead hits the rock.


	5. A Bird that Dips and Wavers

“It looks wonderful, Mother!” Thor bounces on the tips of his feet. “Can I touch it?”

“No,” Frigga laughs, “This is just a projection. You can try, if you like.” She holds it out in front of her, and Loki watches as Thor passes a finger through it. “Ugh! How did you do these?” he asks.

“Just practice. You know, one day, your brother will have all these abilities, too.”

“When I’m king and he’s my right hand man -- or woman -- or whatever he is, we’ll be unstoppable.” He swings his fist through the air. “Nobody will beat the mighty Thor!”

Loki snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Loki, be nice. Thor, be humble.”

“Thor, be _humble_ ,” Loki mimics. _Humble? Him?_

“I don’t know what happened.” Frigga throws her hands up into the air. “You two used to get along so well.”

“We do!” Thor protests. He flings an arm around Loki. “I love you!”

Loki extricates himself, slipping sideways. _You told mother about my eight made-ups_ , he thinks furiously. _You told on me, and you’ll pay for that._ “I love you too,” he says aloud.

Frigga sighs. “Stalemate, I suppose? Come on.” She takes her children’s hands and starts walking. “We’re going to take the cloak down to the weavers, and they’ll make the corporeal version, and then we’ll give that to Heimdall.”

“I know,” Loki says testily.

“I know you know,” Frigga replies evenly. “Thor doesn’t.”

“You should add embroidery to the cloak,” Thor suggests. “Maybe eyes, since Sir Heimdall can see so well. I think he’d like that.”

Frigga stops and looks down to Thor, smiling. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

“Thanks.” When Frigga’s not looking, Thor leans over to Loki and sticks out his tongue.

Loki kicks his toe into the ground.

“How’s this?” Frigga waves her hands and holds up what appears to the the same cloak.

“It looks the same,” Loki says flatly.

“It does, doesn’t it? But wait.” Frigga tilts the fabric in the light, and Loki sees tiny embroidered eyes start to gleam in the sun. “They can only be seen when the light hits it a certain way.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Loki quickly, making sure he says it first.

“I agree,” says Thor, slightly sulky. “It looks really pretty.”

“I’m glad you two are in agreement, for once. Come on, now. I don’t believe you have met the weavers yet.”

“What do they do?” Thor asks.

“Weave,” Loki returns smugly. “They make clothes.”

“Very good. Yes, Thor; the weavers make all of Asgard’s clothes. You didn’t think your garments just sprang into your wardrobes by magic, did you?”

_I bet you did._

“Then we gotta say thank you to them!”

“You’re right.”

_How do you say everything right all the time?_

“Loki, are you whispering something?” Frigga asks.

Loki freezes.

“Are you working on another rhyme?” Thor chirps.

Loki opens his mouth. “Ye-e-s.”

“Would you like to share it?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. What rhymes with gleaming?”

Frigga smiles. “Were you in the library today?”

He nods.

“I’m glad. Is that your new word?”

He nods again.

“I’m sure there are many rhymes. Dreaming rhymes with gleaming.”

 _Dreaming._ He crinkles his mouth. “I thought of screaming.”

“I thought of teaming,” Thor pushes in.

“That’s not a word,” Loki snaps.

“Sure it is! Acting as a team. You know!”

“Mother?”

“It is a word, Loki.”

Loki stomps his foot. _No-one likes me._

“What’s the rhyme so far?” Thor asks.

 _Gleaming, gleaming, the city is gleaming, and if it burned, there would be screaming._ “The city is gleaming, and,” he looks nervously up at Frigga, “And people are dreaming and teaming.”

“That’s beautiful, Loki.”

“I can make a rhyme too,” Thor protests.

“Of course you can.”

“Wait, listen!” Thor takes his hand from Frigga and pushes his chest out. “Light shines on the open, light shines on the blue. Light shines on Asgard, and it shines on me and you.”

 _That was awful._ Loki tries not to shudder.

“That is also lovely, Thor. You should both recite your poems for Heimdall when we see him.”

“ _No_ ,” Loki growls.

“Loki,” Frigga warns. “What did we say about that tone of voice?”

Loki tries to be sorry and finds he can’t. “I-”

“If you don’t start behaving more kindly, Loki, there will be consequences,” Frigga says severely. “I will tell Father.”

“Don’t do that!” Loki bursts out.

“Don’t make me.”

“Should I just not say _anything_ , then?”

Frigga shakes her head. “Hurry up; we’re almost there.”

Loki takes his hand from Frigga’s and folds his arms.

“The bifrost can take anyone anywhere, right?” Thor asks.

“Yes.”

“ _Anywhere_ anywhere?”

“Anywhere in the Nine Realms.”

Thor’s face suffuses with intense concentration, and Loki silently laughs at how difficult it is for him to produce a thought. “So why are we walking?” Thor finally asks.

“We live in the crown jewel of the universe,” Frigga tells him, “The most beautiful place in existence. We are going to enjoy it.”

“Fine.”

“Positive attitude, Thor.”

Loki grins.

“Loki,” Thor asks, and Loki quickly hides his smile, “Do you ever just want to go somewhere? Want to move, want to fly like a bird? I wish I could fly. Do you ever want see what else is out there?”

“Sure,” Loki mutters, increasing his pace to stay alongside Thor and Frigga.

“I definitely do. When I’m king, I’m going to have every part of the Nine Realms mapped-”

Loki cuts him off, irritable. “That’s already been done. It’s in the library.”

“Oh.”

“Have you _never_ been to the library?”

“Of course I’ve been to the library. That’s where they keep all the books!”

“Loki,” Frigga warns again.

Loki ignores her. “You didn’t even know the Valkyrie were all-female. I don’t think you’ve ever read a book in your life.”

“That’s mean!”

 _Telling on me was mean!_ “Gleaming, gleaming, the city is gleaming, and if it burned, there would be screaming, and maybe you’d be screaming, too!” He jumps ahead of Frigga and jabs his finger at Thor. “Maybe you’d burn, too!”

Frigga gasps.

Thor takes a step back and blinks. “Loki, are you feeling sick?”

“Why do you think there’s something wrong with me!?” It’s Loki’s turn to stick his tongue out at Thor.

“Loki!”

Guiltily, Loki looks up at his mother. “What?”

“Loki - your behavior is terrible!”

Loki can’t meet Frigga’s horrified eyes. He points at Thor again. “He -- he stuck his tongue out at me first!”

Frigga appears to calm herself with monumental effort. “Thor, did you?”

“No.”

Loki sees red and rushes at his brother, knocking him to the ground. “You’re a liar!” he shouts into his face. “You’re a liar, and you told on me, you liar, you _liar_ -”

“LOKI!” Frigga grasps Loki by the back of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. “Go home. Now!”

“Mother-”

“Stay in your room until dinner!”

“But-”

“ _Go._ I told you there would be consequences if your bad behaviour continued.”

“But, Mother!”

“Go!”

“Please don’t tell Father until after I’m asleep,” he tries, giving her his best pleading look. “Please?”

“I’ll think about that.”

“Thank you.” Loki blinks and looks down, trying to make tears. “I love you!”

“I love you too, Loki. That’s why I… Just go.”

Loki turns to Thor. Thor looks away.

“You’re a terrible brother,” Loki hisses to him, so quietly only he can hear.

Thor flinches.

Loki turns and stomps back the way he’d come. His footsteps hit so hard they hurt him.


	6. Over Lone Waters Round

Walking shatters her. Pain lances through her side. Her armor grates against her with every step, dirt and blood soaking it, her cape bloodied beyond recognition. Her eyes are on the ground, focused only her feet taking one step and then another. Her blade drags behind her, clanging occasionally on a prone arm or a leg.  _ Do not think. Do not think. _

Her brain does not listen to her, playing and repeating the same faint melody.

_ When you go to war _

_ With the Valkyrior _

She slams her knuckles into her stinging eyes. 

_ There's nothing that can faze you  _

She does not look at the sky. One foot hits into the back of her other ankle, and she almost falls again. She catches herself on a ledge, the rock tearing through her armor and splitting the skin of her arm.

_ And only those _

_ Which battle chose _

The way out of the valley is in front of her. She reaches up, finally seeing a bright glimmer over the top of the crags.

_ Know war can raise or raze you. _

She stops her overtaxed muscles from shaking and takes the first step up.

*     *     *

When she finally emerges from Hel, bleeding and caked in dust, golden light blinds her. She coughs and pushes her filthy, matted hair away from her eyes, her fingers coming away sticky and red.

Asgard is unchanged. The city is gleaming.

Still, the rainbow bridge glows in the sunlight. Still, the Asgardian Palace stands tall and proud, symmetrical and shining. Still, the Hall gathers growds, every person draped in clean rich fabrics of red and violet.

She can make out small, faraway motions in the fountains, the splashes of playing children. Distantly, she hears the warm bubble of a group of people laughing. 

_ The Valkyrie are dead. And Asgard does not care. _

And then she is not sad. She is not grieving.

She is angry.

She turns from Asgard, thrusting her shoulders away and shoving her head down. Her hands catch at each other and rip skin.  _ Out. Get away. _

She discards thoughts of running to Odin, of warning him that Hela lives.  _ May he perish.  _ Her thoughts bite her, and she lets them.  _ Hela can have Asgard. She can take them all. _

She tears memories of water, of forests, of runs. She tears memories of her sisters, of her lover, of her horse. “I’m not a Valkyrie,” she hisses through a slitted lip. Blood runs onto her chin, and she catches it in the palm of her hand and wipes it savagely down the front of her armor. She digs her fingernails into the tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

_ Out. Get away. _

She looks to Asgard again, at the blurs mindlessly milling through gold-paved roads.  _ They can burn. Asgard can choke on its own wealth. _

She stands. She turns toward the flawless brightness and hisses at its beauty.

_ Never again will I fight for a king _ , she promises the only part of herself she still trusts.  _ Never again. _

The tattoo on her arm stings. She looks down to see blood scabbing it over.

_ I want to die. _

The thought rises to the front of her mind with alarming alacrity, silencing all other sensation.  _ I should have died with the Valkyrior. _

She looks down. Water laps at the base of the mountains that guard Hel.  _ Nobody comes out here. I would drown. _

She looks back to Hel one more time. All she can see is the rocky path leading into growing darkness. No broken limbs are visible. No blood pools on the ground. And yet the visions of death are imprinted on her lids, lurid.

_ Valtrauta. _

She holds the face in front of her, the smile already distorting. Taking a slow, calm breath, she closes her eyes and jumps.  
  


She hits the water and feels her bones crack. Instantly, cold suffuses her, locking her limbs to her sides as she curls underwater for warmth. She inhales wetness and instantly every instinct in her body is driving her upward, away from the depths, and her head crashes above the surface of the water, breaking the waves into a thundering splash. She coughs violently, sick, barely treading.

_ You’re alive _ , her brain tells her.  _ No shit _ , she replies. 

She turns in the icy water, feeling filth and grime expand off her. She sends more blood from her lip into the water as she scrubs at herself, biting in air and turning the blue water brown.  _ I’m alive.  _ And then,  _ I don’t want to be. _

She can find a better way to die.  _ Not on Asgard. _

__ Out. Get away.  
  


She takes the long trek into the city alone, striking the first Asgardian she sees and stripping him, taking his clothing and leaving him unconscious. 

_ Ship.  _ She knows where to find one.  
  


Two hours later, at full acceleration, she tears out of the city. She can’t see where she’s going. Her vision is blurred, and the mix of water and sweat has stuck her eyelashes to her cheeks. She pushes the acceleration, throttling the engine within an inch of its life. 

_ Out. Get away. _

The speed pushes her back against her seat. More sweat drips down her face. The air she gasps is foul. She reaches for the acceleration handle and forces it down as hard as she can. The ship triples its speed and her head slams against her headrest, and everything is blackness and silence and peace.


	7. Then with a Cry that Quavers

Loki storms back to towards palace. _Gleaming, gleaming, the city is gleaming, and if it burned, there would be screaming._

He rewords, reverting. _The city is gleaming through fire and screaming._

 _The city…_ He thinks hard for the next line, catching at the spare ends of the single sentence. _The city burns and breaks._ The imagery is satisfying, but no rhymes present themselves. Frustrated, he stomps his foot. _At least I’m better than Thor at writing._

 _That’s the only thing,_ his brain taunts.

He juts his chin out further and folds his arms. “I’m NOT going to cry,” he says aloud, hating the words as they die stupidly in flat air. “I’m not an idiot like he is.” He abruptly drops to the ground, sitting with a quiet smack and resting his elbows on his knees. He leans over the edge of the bridge and dangles his legs over the water. Some distant part of him wonders if someone would ever find him if he fell from the bridge, drifted over the waterfall, and dropped into airless space below.

He bows his head to the ever-changing water patterns below him, imagining his own body drifting in ether, slowly covered with cleansing ice. _Would it freeze off the touches, or would it freeze them to me?_ He decides that the water would wash people’s touch from him, and the ice would keep him safe. _Nobody could touch me then, if I were frozen._ The shining noises in his mind spike louder; _Green, not gold; feels like cold._

Comforted, he stands. By the time he steps onto the main road in Asgard proper, his eyes are dry and his breath no longer hitches.

  
As he walks, squinting slightly, he notices for the first time that the city is made almost entirely of sharp points. The buildings crush themselves the sky like they want to tear its blueness down. He remembers when he thought their peaks actually brushed against the sky, before he knew how distance and space interacted to bring dimension to sight.

He starts to become aware, dimly, that he feels alone. He blocks the sounds of the thoroughfare, slapping his palms against his hears. Everyone is talking in oranges and reds; noise rises in unavoidable miasma. _You have no friends_ , his brain whispers.

 _I do_ , he objects back.

_Do you? Nobody who writes poems has friends._

He rolls his eyes with some effort. _What do you want me to say? ‘The city is gleaming through fire and screaming. The city burns and breaks; you have no friends?’ That’s a great poem. Just great. Thanks, brain._

He walks faster. _I have friends, and I’ll stand with them. Like this: ‘the city burns and breaks. You stand with friends.’_ He merges the two clauses. _The city burns and breaks, and yet you stand with friends._ His mouth quirks up. _That’s more advanced._ The ‘and yet’ pleases him, and he saves the rest of the poem to the back of his mind for further revision, breaking from a walk to a trot and jogging the rest of the way back to the palace.

He slips quietly between the two giant doors, only relaxing when they’ve shut themselves behind him with a relieving, final thud. His boots slide softly on the reflective floor, and leans his back, exhaling to the ceiling.

_You stand with friends. You stand with friends. You stand with… that._

Instinctively, he looks around for Frigga to welcome him back, before remembering that she’s at the Bifrost. _And she’s angry at me, too._ He places a hand on his chest, stopping his bubble of apology before it can emerge. _Stop that._ “Stop that! I’m not sorry!” His words echo, ringing too-loud against the ceiling.

_Another made-up. Are you at ten now? Twelve?_

He shakes his head, searching for a new distraction. _I’m going to…_

“Uh,” he says. “Um.”

_I’m going to be a spy._

“Good choice,” he decides. _Come on, Loki; you’ve done this before. Be a spy. Spy-ify._

Eyeing his reflection in the floor, he holds his hands in front of him and lets green swirls escape the tips of his fingers. Slowly, they coalesce and shift color, sliding down the spectrum towards orange and pink, paling into his cheekbones and lips. Closed eyelids are next, and a nose, and he walks in a circle around the forming replica of himself, adding the hair to the back of his head.

_You stand with friends. You stand with that._

Unable to come up with anything better, he leaves the poem as is and walks his replica upstairs to his bedroom, directing it to turn facedown on the bed and pulling the covers up over its indistinct face. _That should be enough to fool her._

Gleeful at his trickery, he makes his way toward Frigga’s boudoir and curls behind the chair, prepared to wait for her to come home.

It doesn’t take long for her to return, and as she marches into the room, she pulls Odin behind her, her hand clasped fast on his arm.

“Nine lies today, Frigga? Nine?” Odin is saying. “He told nine lies?” _He’s angry_ , Loki realises with a flash of fear. _He’s angry at me._

“Shush! You know how he is! He’s a child!”

“Thor isn’t like this,” Odin continues roughly, as if Frigga hadn’t spoken, “And he never was.”

Frigga hisses in air. _She’s angry too_ , Loki perceives. _Really angry. But not at me. At… Father?_ “Are you now comparing your children?”

Heavy footsteps pace inside the room. “I’m worried he is going to turn out like-”

“Don’t you say it. Don’t you _dare_ say it, Odin.”

“You indulge him too much!” Odin snaps.

 _Don’t you dare snap at Mother._ Loki grinds his teeth until they make a sound, wrestling the urge to jump out with a dagger. _Stay hidden! Stay quiet!_ he shouts at his mind.  

“You are the king, the Allfather, and maybe nobody else will tell you what they really think, but as long as I live, I will! Do you know why Loki’s so desperate leave the castle? Do you know why he’s so angry, and why he takes that out on Thor? Do you know why he makes up all the stories he does?”

“Oh, enlighten me.”

Loki’s legs start to shake. _Stay hidden!_

“Loki lies because he wants to live in the world where the things he makes up are true.”

 _I do?_ Loki’s face wrinkles in confusion, and he pushes it smooth again with his hands. _Do I?_

“That’s bullshit.”

Loki slams his fingers over his mouth to stop himself from gasping, and the slap echoes.

There is silence.

“Did you hear something?” Odin asks.

“No,” says Frigga, but something in her voice makes Loki afraid. “I didn’t hear anything. Look at me, Odin.”

Odin takes in a great breath, and Loki envisions him red in the face, angry. _He looks so stupid when he’s angry._ The thought cheers him, and his mouth quirks at the corners.

“Are you saying he lies because he’s _sad_ , Frigga?”

“Do you know what he asked me today? Of course you don’t, because you lavish all your attention on your favorite son.”

 _Favorite son._ His almost-smirk disappears. _Not now_ , his mind growls. _Weak!_

“What did he ask you?”

“He asked me why he was weaker than Thor,” Frigga says flatly.

There is another silence. “And what did you tell him?”

“I don’t believe you, Odin.” Lighter footsteps pace this time. “I just don’t believe you.”

 _Are they fighting? Over me?_ Loki digs his fingernails into his palm. _They should be. They don’t do anything right._

“What?”

“Do you honestly think he’s weaker?”

“Do you honestly think he’s _not_ _?_ You know why!”

“All I know is that you are getting increasingly fond of your self-fulfilling prophecies, Odin! And you know who I’m talking about!”

“I don’t want to hear it, Frigga!”

“I know you don’t! And that’s why I’m telling you!” Frigga takes in a large breath. “You stand with love before it goes, Odin. You must, for if you don’t love someone, you lose them, and it’s unfortunate I must spell it out for you like this. Loki is one of our family, and we need to show him the love he deserves -- as a prince, as an Asgardian, but most importantly, as your son. He is!”

 _Daughter, sometimes. It would be princess, not prince, then._ Loki bites his lower lip with his incisor. _‘You stand with love before it goes.’ The city is gleaming through fire and screaming. The city burns and breaks and yet you stand with friends. You stand with that. You stand with love before it goes._ Deciding that’s as fluid as his words will be today, he calls the poem finished and casts it from his mind.

“Frigga,” Odin starts, “I didn’t mean-”

“Odin, please. Just go.”

“Go?”

“This is my boudoir,” Frigga reminds him, voice tight. “My personal chamber. And I have the right to my space. So, if you don’t mind _-_ “

“I’m sorry.”Odin’s words are suddenly soft, melting. _Oh, my god. Are they going to kiss?_ Loki grimaces. _Blech._

Frigga sighs. “Are you really?”

“I am. Truly, Frigga. I was harsh. I never mean to yell at my beautiful, regal wife.”

“And I never mean to yell at my strong, intelligent husband.”

_Strong? Intelligent? Him?_

“It’s only because of you that I’m strong, Frigga. You know that.”

“I do indeed.”

There’s a few footsteps, a rustle of fabric, and small suction sound of lips pressing, briefly. _Well, that was fast._ Loki tries not to gag.

“Will you come to dinner?” Odin asks.

“Of course.”

When Loki hears the door start to open, he makes his move. _Bug. NOW!_

Urgency gives him strength as he collapses into himself, growing legs and mandibles, shrinking until he can fit inside the shadows that lie where the walls meet the floor. Pain blazes through him as he transforms, bones stretching and splitting, nerves rearranging, tissues he didn’t even know he had viciously torn and spliced. The room flattens and grows, turning from gold to grey as a spinning wave of dizziness crashes down on him him, but he has eyes only for the slowly-closing door. Skittering silently across the floor, finding balance on six tiny legs, he slips out of the room just as the door slams shut behind Odin.

He clings to the wall for two scared minutes, half-expecting Frigga to have noticed the tiny insect, half-expecting Odin’s retreating footsteps (much more threatening to his insect form) to turn around suspiciously.

 _But_ , he realises, _Neither mother nor father knows I’m good enough to make myself a bug._ Slow triumph fills him, a bubbling silver. _Even if they’d noticed, they wouldn’t’ve known it was me._

As safe silence descends around him, he moves into a shadowy corner starts to release his transformation, carefully and thoroughly expanding back into himself. The pain is lesser as he returns to one of his natural states; _I’m better at this, now._

His thoughts return to his parents’ conversation. _Weaker than Thor?_ He twitches. _I’ll show him who’s stronger. I’ll show them both who’s stronger. If I can turn into a bug, I can turn into anything._

He summons a dagger to his hand and starts to grin. _Thor likes snakes, doesn’t he?_


	8. Is gone—a spectral sound.

With a twack, a stick slams crosswise onto her back. A dusty cough explodes out of her, and she rolls over onto her back. The stick attacks her stomach next, somehow finding the chinks in her armor and pushing into her flesh. “Ow,” she murmurs, her lips swollen, and cracks her eyes open.

A large woman with a cruel smile stares down at her. “The trash is awake.”

Brünnhilde struggles to blink, the dust she raised settling down onto her face. For a moment, she is truly lost; then her memories fall back upon her, and she bites her tongue to bloodiness, forgetting with all her strength. “Who art th-” She stops her words, cutting thee and thou from her vocabulary. _Nobody will address me informally again._ “Who are you?” she spits, pink flecking her lips. _Where am I?_

“I’m Topaz.” The woman whacks her with the stick again. “Does the trash have a name?”

Brünnhilde pushes herself away, reaching to her side but not finding her dragonfang blade. She realises she’s been dragged from her cockpit and is lying on a ridgy ground, a pale blue, hole-riddled sky above her. She squints; _they’re portals_ , she realises. _I’m on the edge of everything._ “My name is-” she erases Asgard from it, flattening the U. “Brunnhilde.”

“Not here, it’s not.” Topaz looks her over scathingly. “Come with me. If you’re pretty, the Grandmaster will want you.”

Brünnhilde -- Brunnhilde -- pushes sweaty hair out of her eyes. “Who?”

Topaz’s laugh is uncommonly cruel. “You’ll find out soon enough. Come on.” She moves to hit Brunnhilde with the stick again, but Brunnhilde flips over and grasps it, tearing it away and jumping to her feet.

For a moment she stands with the stick pointing toward Topaz, relishing the fear in the other woman’s eyes. Then the world shivers, her legs wobble, and her ankle turns beneath her, sending her crashing back to the ground. Her head slams down on a rusty metal bowl, and she becomes aware that she is physically lying atop a mound of garbage. A dead creature’s decomposing face leers down at her from a pile of filthy netting, one of its eyes half-eaten by worms. Revulsion fills her, and she fights the urge to retch. The smell is pervasive.

“Pathetic,” she hears through growing dimness. Brunnhilde doesn’t have the energy to resist as Topaz grabs her leg and drags her away through the trash.  
  


END OF PART ONE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, the chapter titles form a poem in themselves -- it's "Haunted Seas" by Cale Young Rice. (I basically looked up which poems have the word 'gleaming' in them.) This chapter title concludes the first stanza of the two-stanza poem, just as this chapter concludes the first part of this two-part story. The second half of the story will take place more or less over the course of the events of Ragnarok.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading -- I truly appreciate it. <3


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